


I Grew Tired Of This Body

by Soha_Friend



Category: Mortal Kombat (Video Games), Mortal Kombat - All Media Types
Genre: Body Dysphoria, Depression, M/M, Self Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-16
Updated: 2019-05-16
Packaged: 2020-03-06 11:17:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18849991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Soha_Friend/pseuds/Soha_Friend
Summary: Cyrax found him in pool of blood, vomit and dirt, in an empty alley between the building an the cliff. He froze in place wondering, if that was the end...A short speculative Fic on Sektor's mental state/





	I Grew Tired Of This Body

_ Take my lungs, take them and run _

_ Take my tongue, go have some fun _

_ And take the ears, take them and disappear _

 

_     -Go fuck yourself! _

 

_                                                               -You are nothing!  _

 

_                                                                                                                                  -Just let me die _

 

Nothing but bones. Bones and flesh. Nothing but bones and flesh to  _ him _ . To anyone. Something that did not exist could not hurt anyone, could not hurt itself. So when the thin light lines claimed the meat of Nothing’s hands, he did not care. They could always be blamed on training or carelessness… Ha! Like someone would ask.

 

He was a whole universe… Because, in the end, it does not matter how much you take away from the space’s endless vacuum, the emptiness will still grow. Because stars, deadly explosions of fire, could never fill the black void that was just as cold as it was powerful. Because black holes were planted into him as soon as he was born, and kept eating him down until everything he knew was torn apart. People looked at him with fear and wonder, never able to near him for the fear of suffocating.

 

_ Too much. Too little, _

_ Too fast. Too brittle… _

 

It was all consuming way too often. A feeling of utter chaos inside the hole which no one could ever fill. He felt too big for his body, black dripping off the stitches, that held the meat together, threatening to tear him apart. He felt too small for his body, about to fold into himself, like a useless collidoscope of bright colors, or a rotting fruit.  

 

Sub-Zero was better. Sub-Zero was faster. Sub-Zero was praised and loved by his father. But despite how much he tried, he could never catch up with the cryomancer. And he tried! But he was not good enough because his limbs didn’t erupt with ice, and because he lost in spars over and over again. His body would hit the wall under the impact of the cryomancer’s unforgiving blow, making him taste bitter, sticky blood that he despised so much. And all he had left to do, was look up at the dissatisfaction of his father with hatred, and a silent hope that one day he would bleed out dry. And when there would be no liquid left, and his corpse would look like one of an old man, or a frozen statue, his father would sigh in relief and appoint Sub-Zero as his heir. And if he tried even harder, it still wouldn’t be enough, because his body was just bones and ligaments not steel and ice. He was not enough. ‘Nothing’ would never be enough, just like nothing was ever enough in his father’s eyes.

 

_ Take my eyes, take them aside _

_ Take my face and desecrate _

_ My arms and legs, they get in the way _

 

‘You’re dying’ he said, genuine concern on his face, ‘You are killing yourself’

 

And Sektor never wanted to do anything more than to wipe the worry off the man’s face. So he hit him. Once. And then twice. And then until his face was no longer recognizable, swollen and black under the impact of heavy punches.

 

A weak smile fought its way through the hurt and Sektor hated it. But the worst thing was that the concern never left, it just turned into a sadder more strong emotion. So Sektor kissed him, because it was the reasonable thing to do. And then the man let out a small noise. Pathetic. Beneath him bright, brown eyes filled with detached, lonely longing. The man’s hands shook, but he found the courage to run then through Sektor’s long hair, so Sektor took him. Wholely. Heartlessly. Claiming, devouring, but most importantly breaking.  _ Too big. Too little. Too fast. Too brittle. _

 

They say a black hole claims everything it can reach, and then it changes the thing in a strange, crooked way. It tears what it owns into atoms, into information itself, and then the thing is never the same. They say space is scary, but when you fall in love with it, there is no going back. 

 

_ Emptiness is as big as it is small. _

 

He hated care. He hated the love the other man gave him. He loathed the other man ruthlessly, almost as much as he did himself. And sometimes the intensity of disdain he felt was almost warm, almost welcoming, almost burning. Almost. Sub-Zero once made a dramatic remark, ‘It is the cold that burns the most.’ Sektor never understood, until now.

 

_ Take my hands, they'll understand _

_ Take my heart, pull it apart _

_ And take my brains, they get in the wa _ y

 

He often wondered what it would be like to be a code. A code of numbers and letters embedded deeply into microscopic software. Just a thin path of electricity, flowing like a blood vessel, but more secure, more faithful. That was why he liked math. Liked it because it was defined, unbending and freezing cold. It was set, logical, it could create and destroy. But mostly because it did not require feelings, did not ask for anything in return...

 

Sektor liked negative numbers. One stupid civilian once asked what was his favorite number:

 

_ Minus Twelve _

 

He made himself firearms with math, engineering and wit, put them on, with the risk of burning his hands off, and surprised Sub-Zero in a fight. He was going to teach the fucker a lesson! They fought until the gasoline ran out, Sub-Zero smirking in victory. Sektor swore his gasoline would never run out anymore. 

 

Burnt flesh was his favorite smell in the world, so he burned himself often. He loved the way skin melted off, coming off in chunks. He savored the pain. He adored the sting. Fire was mesmerizing. Strong, all consuming. He loved its power, it’s beauty…

 

-liar

 

Or maybe not? Maybe he only ever wanted to thaw the numbness that settled deep in the white lines on his wrists. Pain was a buzz, it no longer ever hurt. So maybe he only ever wanted to feel something. Anything. Fire helped, it really did. 

 

He burned Cyrax once. Cruelly. Unexpectedly. And it was the first time he caught the raw look of hurt and betrayal in the man’s eyes, in the flinch of his shoulders. 

 

_ Smell the pain, and maybe then you can feel what I feel. Feel the way my molten tongue tastes of matches in your mouth. And when you can know what I know, you will love the soft carresment of hell on your skin, as it takes away your body. We can the share the pain _

_ share _

_                    share _

                                 t _ake it away_

_ share my pain _

_                                                                                                                      Please. _

  
  
  


_ Take my teeth, tear through my cheeks _

_ Just go dispose, just go dispose _

_ 'cause I've grown tired of this body _

_ Cumbersome and heavy body _

 

Cyrax found him in pool of blood, vomit and dirt, in an empty alley between the building an the cliff. He froze in place wondering, if that was the end. His hands were shaking, chest rising and falling rapidly. He never wanted a goodbye, he never hoped for a better ending, but now it seemed too real. ‘Sektor did not deserve this,’ Cyrax thought in panic, but still stood, trying to prove the words to himself. They say, it takes a man 2 minutes to bleed out. 

 

He shakily lowered down to the floor. The smell of decay and anger hit him in the nose, was he that late? But, no, he knew what death smelled like. And Sektor did not smell like that, at least no more than he usually did. So he turned the body, hoping for the best, expecting the worst. And inhaled sharply when he found a pair of open, black eyes staring at him with vigor. But then they lost their focus, and traveled beyond him, into the black, starless sky and space space itself. To his horror, they were hollow, hatless. 

 

But he also did not find a razor slash from ear to ear, or one from the wrist to the elbow. Hope? Fear?

 

“Sektor! Sektor, do you hear me? Stay with me!”

 

A laugh echoed through the night. It sent a wave of cold down Cyrax’s spine. 

 

“What for?” The man in his hands, spoke in a dull, foreign voice. Cyrax could not understand where the blood was coming from in the darkness, and that increased his panic. 

 

_ I've grown tired of this body _

_ Fall apart without me, body _

 

“Please let me take you to the medic,” Cyrax then sighed convulsively, the man was just laughing and becoming heavier to hold by the second, “I love you.”

 

Cyrax leaned down to kiss the assassin. He tasted of acidic vomit, and was shaking slightly. Cyrax grabbed a wrist, there three open, bumpy gashes on it. Deep. Deeper than usual.

 

“I don’t,” the man hissed into Cyrax’s face. He didn’t understand if the man meant that he didn’t love him or himself, but he knew that both was true. Cyrax picked up the man who was in another fit of maniacal laughter, that could be mistaken hysterical crying if he didn’t know the man. 

 

“Just let me fucking die.”

 

He did not want to die. Otherwise he would make the cut stretch so far and deep that he would bleed out in minus twelve minutes. He just wanted to feel something. Anything. 

 

let me be empty metal

                                      let me be empty metal 

                                                                           let me be empty

  
  
  


**_Tired of this body_ **

**_Tired of this body_ **

  
  
  
  
  



End file.
